


Six hands? Oh deer.

by Daringstars



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor secretly enjoys being tickled, Angel enjoys dishing it out, Animated GIFs, Art, Established Relationship, Flustered Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Gift Art, Lee Alastor, Ler Angel Dust, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Tickle fic, Tickling, radiodust - Freeform, tickle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26892583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daringstars/pseuds/Daringstars
Summary: Angel finds a ticklish spot and gives into wanting to explore this sensation with Alastor. A very quickly written drabble to go along with some art.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 123





	Six hands? Oh deer.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feather_Pen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feather_Pen/gifts).



> Birthday gift art and quickly written fic for my wonderful partner diving into RadioDust hell with me. Happy birthday, Love!

“ _ Angel. _ ”

The warning tone and stern look did absolutely nothing to dissuade the spider that was inching closer into his personal space. Despite anything else between the two, be it sexual history, power dynamics, or the overlord strength he held over Angel Dust, that sharp grin struck an instinctive nerve in Alastor’s gut to run. Quickly.

It had initially been an accident, a gentle and intimate moment between the two. Angel insisted on spoiling him a little, and had worked his jacket off of his shoulders. His staff was dismissed from his hands for Angel to tend to him, soft touches and rubs meant to help relax the demon after a trying day in the hotel. It had worked; it had been surprisingly great at first. Until Angel’s hands rubbed a  _ bit _ too low and his nails had brushed the base of his tail.

There was a squeak. A noisy, static-and-feedback-filled sound, but distinctly and undeniably a squeak.

Everything in the room went still and silent except for the hum of radio noise filling the space. Alastor’s back was so tense he was certain it negated all of the work Angel had just done to try and relax him. Angel was just hovering with wide, unblinking eyes.

And then Angel was grinning. It was wide, sharp and almost  _ feral _ . Alastor did his best to try and maintain the sort of control he managed over the rest of the hotel occupants. “ _ Angel, _ ” he repeated simply but firmly. The squared shoulders, firm, unwavering tone, and unchanged expression would have been convincing, had his damned natural instincts not kicked in and forced him back two steps.

“Y’know, Red,” Angel’s voice came, and while Alastor had been focused on that golden glinted smile, he should have been paying attention to the downright mischievous twinkle in his eyes to know what was coming. Another step forward. Alastor took another step back. “I thought it was just my imagination, y’know? Sometimes I’d touch your ribs or sides or like, your _ tail _ .” Alastor swallowed hard at that, but Angel continued to speak. “I thought, nah, no way in fuck the big ol’ Radio Demon is ticklish. It’s just his scars, right? Makin’ him sensitive. But I’ve heard you when you get over-sensitized from bein’ touched. You don’t  _ squeak _ . Or do that breathy little laugh shit you think I can’t hear when you shove ya head in a pillow or somethin’.”

“Angel, I am not-” Alastor’s protest was interrupted by the sight of Angel’s third set of arms popping into existence, and Alastor was suddenly very aware of how close he was to the wall, cornered. Caught in Angel’s web.

“Y’know what’s really good for relaxin’? Bein’ tickled until you’re screamin’.” It was so matter of fact, so calmly spoken that when Angel’s arms shot out and gripped Alastor’s wrists it took him several moments to realize what exactly was happening. 

Hands. So many hands were on him and it was all from just one ornery spider. Alastor’s breath caught in his throat and he looked every bit like a deer caught in the headlights of a car.

Two of Angel’s hands went straight for his back, resting just above that damned spot at the base of his tail. The other two focused on the places he’d mentioned before as a curiosity. His sides. His waist. His ribs.

“Angel!” It was an empty warning that held no bite.

Angel Dust was a demon who had decades of experience in pleasuring others, exploring all sorts of bodies with a variety of techniques and touches. Even aside from his post-death work, Angel had two siblings that he had most definitely gotten into tickle fights with, and had almost always won. This was a demon focusing on another who had spent those same decades mostly  _ avoiding _ the touches of others, unless it was happening under his complete control. 

Alastor’s body tensed like a coil as fingers gently wiggled and scratched through the fine material Alastor insisted on wearing. It made the sensation all the more hellish. The entire make of his core tightened under the light, teasing attention, and his breathing came to a shuddering halt. 

Gentle wiggling motions spider-walked just hard enough to tickle over the curve of his ribs, making work of exploring the nerves around the sides and front. Continuing to explore the different squeezes and teases that would be the most intense down to the front of his belly. Working lower and lower over the sensitive spots Angel knew were hidden in the small tuft of fur he held there. All of the breath Alastor had been holding was forced out of him as his eyes squeezed shut, and the ever-present smile on his face was beginning to have a grimacing quality to it. Alastor had no chance to voice protests before Angel was onto a new spot or type of touch.

The second set of hands was simultaneously setting in on his tail, or more precisely, the hellishly sensitive spot right above it that was the pleasurable and ticklish bane of Alastor’s existence. Pink fingers swirled around it, dancing comfortably through the maze of suspenders and trousers to wiggle against it with just enough well-practiced force to make the deer demon’s hips buck upwards away from the motion.

Angel was enclosing him, his arms spreading Alastor’s wide to access the entirety of his body. Nothing was really out of his reach. “Heh. See, I heard ‘bout tails bein’ sensitive. Hell, think I’ve even brushed yours a time or two. And don’t get me wrong, it had definitely fuckin’ occured to me to touch it more but, y’know, I was tryin’ t’be good. And then you fuckin’  _ squeaked _ .”

Alastor’s chest puffed with indignance, “I did NOT squeak! That was a technical issue!”

Angel’s head tossed back with a laugh. “A technical issue of bullshit! That was a fuckin’ squeak if I ever heard it!” Angel's hands were mercilessly tickling the worst spots he’d found. “Big. Fuckin’. Radio. Demon.  _ Squeakin’. _ When. He’s. Tickled.” Each word was emphasized by firm grabs or wiggly gestures. Over his belly, under his forcibly spread arms, above his tail, across his hips. 

Alastor’s limbs were shaking and his breathing was hitching, caught in a cycle of panting and held breaths, but he wasn’t giving in yet. He hadn’t laughed, and he wasn’t  _ going _ to laugh. No safewords were spoken, but like hell he was going to give Angel Dust the satisfaction.

“Aw, Red,” Angel stepped in and nuzzled his cheek to whisper, “I can work over every single one of ya nerves until ya screamin’ and begging me to stop. Til’ everyone of ya muscles are just goo... I’ll make ya relax.”

Alastor’s lungs filled with a sudden inhale at Angel’s threat...no, this couldn’t reasonably be called a threat. Knowing Angel, it was most definitely a promise. The hot words spoken next were just barely audible, but as they danced over his ear, a loud radio squeal was forced out of him, and his entire being seemed to glitch with displaced color.

  
“ _ Tickle, tickle _ ~”


End file.
